


G: Gunshot

by brokxnharry



Series: Teen Wolf A-Z Challenge (with songs) [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Derek Hale & Scott McCall Friendship, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Other, Pack Feels, Scott is a Good Friend, everybody loves stiles, melissa loves stiles like a son, sterek but barely, the sheriff is the best parent in the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 08:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11642784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokxnharry/pseuds/brokxnharry
Summary: Stiles always said that he'd take a bullet for those he loved. And he did.





	G: Gunshot

**Author's Note:**

> Song: Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye - Michael Logen

Claws were fading back into skin, eyes going back to browns and greens and blues, fangs hiding behind human teeth. And Stiles felt a tug, somewhere in his stomach, that he folded away and called panic, or alertness, or leftover adrenaline. Anything but what it was, what it felt like. Stiles almost felt like he needed to go, like there was somewhere else for him to be, and he could hear the _"come on, we're late"_ , carried somewhere through the wind, that felt familiar, and smelled of home.

They had almost been ambushed, when his dad and his fellow officers showed up. They'd thought it was another alpha pack, another one of Peter's persistent attempts to regain his power, another ex-hunter-turned-almost-werewolf seeking revenge, but they had been a group of hunters gone rogue, that had once worked with Gerard, and now wanted to kill them all, including Chris and his family, because they'd apparently betrayed their trust and abandoned what they'd been raised to do. Gunshots had been exchanged, only momentarily, before werewolves started pouncing, and hunters started scattering, right into the officers' cuffs. So, all in all, it went fairly smoothly, considering only minimal injuries had been brought upon both the pack and the sheriff's team.

They were moving away now, back towards their vehicles, and Stiles couldn't help but feel somehow disconnected from it all. Far away. And when his dad turned to him with a smile, Stiles smiled too, but then his dad was turning away, and he wanted to cry, wanted to reach out, hold onto him, tell him not to go, not to leave him behind. Stiles felt seven years old again, clinging to his dad's legs, pulling his pants down without really meaning to, because he wanted him to stay a bit longer, because his mother was ill and irritable, and all the calm almost drove Stiles mad.

Stiles willed his feet to follow, to cut through the distance between them, to walk through the prints he'd left in the dirt, and try to fit somewhere between the lines, try to remember how they looked, how his father looked, all proud and fulfilled because he'd been of use to his son and those who mattered to him. Stiles wanted to tell him that he'd always been of use, that he'd been the best fucking parent Stiles could have ever hoped for. Stiles also wanted to tell him that he was sorry, but he didn't really know why. Didn't know what for, until he looked down, trying to understand why he was so disoriented, why it felt like his legs were walking away from him, moving forward, while everything above it was angling backwards, pulled down by gravity, or maybe it was the ache somewhere in his stomach. And when he looked back up, everything tilted, and he didn't know if it was him, or the universe.

" Dad," He thought he whispered. Thought he'd told it to the night, as his legs gave out, knees collapsing onto the ground, and so did everything else. He couldn't see much, the night's sky seemed to be stilling above him, the moon no longer coming and going, choosing to stay there, to watch him fade, make the moment all bright and glorious. The leaves weren't flying along with the wind, the trees standing, paying their respect.

But then his father appeared somewhere above him, pushing the moon away, and just staying there. He felt hands beneath his neck, pulling something up, that wanted so desperately to stay down.

" Fuck, I can smell blood. Is he- is he hurt?" Derek's hands were touching where his father couldn't, seeking something out, something that he could fix, that he could take away. But then, they stopped, a breath catching before ever making it past him.

" That's a gunshot wound, right? Sheriff? Is the bullet still in there?" Stiles was pushed onto his side, now seeing one of the hunters, shot to death and laying wide eyed, by a tree that was so close to the one Stiles was standing by, it almost could have been a sign.

" There's no exit wound. Someone call a fucking ambulance, my son's been shot. Stiles- Stiles' been shot. It's okay, son. It's going to be okay." The sheriff yelled, pulling his son back into him, hiding him against his chest. Stiles almost closed his eyes, almost gave in to the sense of bliss saturating him, but he wanted to see him, wanted to see all of them, until he no longer could.

There were hands on him again, and if Stiles was alert enough, he would have felt them trembling against his figure, would have known they weren't Derek's, because they didn't feel like his.

" I- I'm trying to take away his pain, but, it's like there's nothing there. How- how could there be no pain?" Stiles thought he saw his father's forehead falling against Scott's, both of them crying into each other, and onto his almost unmoving figure. He felt himself smile, heard himself cry, with them, for them, he couldn't really tell.

" It- it's okay, Scotty. It doesn't hurt. I-"

" Don’t say that. You can't say that, Stiles. You- you can't. Not you too." Stiles started to ache then, visibly shake with the reminder of what Allison had said, right into Scott's arms. Stiles' hands were in the air, somewhere, when Scott took them, allowing himself to lay onto Stiles, like he could somehow, shield him from this. Like he could have those last few minutes back, and just take that bullet, instead of him. Scott would heal, but Stiles. He could-

" No, no, listen, Stiles. Listen to me, there's barely any blood, okay? It's just a bullet wound, they'll take it out, and you'll be fine in no time. Now stop being such a drama queen, and hang in there, alright? Just hold on, Stiles. We're all here for you, we're with you, buddy, you just need to hold onto that. Hold onto us." Scott choked out, sounding as wrecked as Stiles had remembered him to be, that night that he had had his heart irrevocably broken. Stiles thought he nodded. He really tried to, but his fingers were slowly losing their grip around Scott's, and his eyes were fluttering to an almost abrupt shut, and panic induced, although, he was too far gone to calm it.

" Fuck this, I'll take him to the hospital myself. Scott, I'm going to carry him, on my count, I need your hands on that hole, to slow down the bleeding as much as we can. Okay? Ready?" Derek didn't really wait for a response, leaning down, hiding his arms beneath Stiles, thankful that no one could see, how bloody they were, how they convulsed almost in denial, in rejection of what was coating them. Derek breathed past the reeking scent of blood and pain and gunshot residue, standing himself up, and willing his legs to steady.

He ran to where he'd parked his car, trusting that Scott would be able to keep up the pace. He felt the sheriff following, chasing after them, running with all his might, despite the thundering of his heart, and how his lungs ached for air so fiercely, he almost thought he was having another heart attack. But he was mostly leaned against Isaac and Lydia, and Derek tried not to feel like they were walking through a funeral, like he was putting Stiles down into his grave, instead of the backseat of his car, like this didn't feel how it did, when he dug through the ground himself, throwing the last bit of family in, and covering it up, like it never had been.

Parrish drove the sheriff's car when he couldn't. Malia and Isaac getting in with him, mostly because they couldn't stay in the same place where Stiles smelled the way he did, and not throw up all over him. Derek drove his car, with Lydia in the passenger seat, and Scott somewhere on the floor, by the backseat, crying against his friend, the way he was unable to, the last time someone died in his arms. Trying to pull at something that was now there, in immense amounts, Scott wondered how Stiles' body hadn't just crashed already.

When the car stopped, Scott tried to carry Stiles, but Derek groaned, or whined, and Scott let the hands he held go. Derek pushed into the hospital, eyes seeking Melissa out, until they found her, tearing up in relief or familiarity or just pure despair. She pushed a gurney near him, and he laid Stiles down, watched as she gasped out, or breathed in without really letting it out, asking what happened, like it wouldn't kill her to know.

" Gunshot to the abdomen, no exit wound. Lost consciousness almost thirteen minutes ago. Fix him, please. Help him. Help him, Melissa." The sheriff said from somewhere behind him, voice more broken up that anything Derek had ever heard before. Melissa nodded, not bothering with any of them, as she called medical terms out for anyone who cared enough to listen, disappearing behind a door.

Derek turned and Scott was helping the sheriff ease his way into a chair, looking like he was twenty years older, a year for every minute since Stiles had called his name out, in what felt like goodbye. Derek started pacing, hands occasionally in his hair when he felt himself starting to fade. Lydia was falsely confident and assured, promising a recovery that she didn't really believe in. Malia just sat there, looking more pissed off than anything, like she was planning her revenge in her head, thinking of ways to kill everyone who'd ever used a damn gun.

" It was a normal bullet, no wolfsbane in it. Why would hunters going after a pack of werewolves use those? Was it, some type of mistake?" Isaac asked out loud, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, like it made him feel better, to try to insert logic into a situation that was so incredibly chaotic.

" Not a mistake. They knew your pack involved members other than the werewolves. They were coming for me too. Those bullets weren't really for you." Eyes turned to where Chris now stood, looking as undone as the sheriff, with a tint of hopelessness, because his child was gone, there was no changing that, while the sheriff's was still there, if only for then.

The sheriff sighed, rubbing his hands across his face, and when he pulled away, he could feel his son's blood, now tainting his skin. Could see how red his cheek was, from the corner of his eye, and if the werewolves heard the breathlessness there, if they heard the leap in his heartbeat, then at least they'd let him have that, with his dignity still intact.

" Jesus Christ," The sheriff hissed, sounding like he wanted to cry.

" Come on, Sheriff, lets go get cleaned up, it'll help." Scott looked like he needed it more than the sheriff, and he couldn't deny him that. So they both stood up, walking close to one another, as if they were each prepared to catch the other, if needed. Derek looked down onto his own hands, seeing how layers of Stiles' blood had hidden beneath his nails, how his shirt, his own body, smelled of Stiles, but not what he liked of him, not what he would have liked to keep from him.

" You should probably go with them too. Freshen up. I'll come get you if there are any news." Lydia spoke, startling Derek. He didn't know why she'd think to say that to him, how he'd made it so painfully obvious that he was struggling with this, that the thought of Stiles, hurt, was somewhat breaking his heart. He nodded, not really having it in him to return her knowing smile, before walking away.  

He tried to follow Scott's scent and not the blood he and the sheriff had on them, or the sickness in people's bodies, or the tears of their loved ones, or all those medications leaving a sour taste on his tongue. He stood in front of one of the sinks, letting the water just wash it all away, take it to where he wouldn't be able to follow.

" Is, uh, Lydia not screaming, is that a good sign? Like, if he," The sheriff stopped, shaking his head, lips trembling like he was about to cry. Scott looked away from him, and onto Derek, who was trying not to put his hand through the mirror, and just break it, along with that stupid reflection in it.

" Stiles isn't going to die, Sheriff. We- we'll do all we can to stop that from happening. And then some. He's not dying." Derek sounded so fearfully certain, like he was scared of giving himself deceiving hope, of clinging to the thought of a healthy, prospering Stiles, that just wouldn't exist, but the sheriff nodded, sniffling, before throwing some water onto his face, if only to hide his tears.

Derek stayed there, hands in the water, eyes watching for dissolved blood that had stopped coming, until he felt a hand on his shoulder, a pat, like he'd done good. And he couldn't remember when was the last time someone had bothered to remind him of that, of his ability to sometimes do good instead of bad. To do things and not fuck them up. To love and care for people and have it count for something.

Derek looked up, eyes wide and raw, falling upon the sheriff's figure in the mirror, patiently granting Derek the time to crack himself open, to bare his soul, and just, let it out. Let something else in. He turned from the sink, and before he could really face the sheriff, he was pulled into his arms. He was taller than the sheriff, broader as well. He really shouldn't have fit in, but he did, comfortably so, and when Derek inhaled, there was no more blood, no more sickness and death and suffering. There was the scent of Stiles' house, of his favorite perfume, and sweaty work uniform, and just, Stiles. Derek was holding what mattered most to Stiles, and he was staggered by how he didn't combust, and fade to ashes, the way Derek's own family did.

" Thank you, Derek. For what you did today. You did good. You-" But the bathroom door opened, and Scott was standing there, next to Isaac, both of their chests heaving, and Derek hadn't even realized Scott had ever left, hadn't bothered looking around, searching for another presence other than the sheriff's, who'd now pulled away, but remained near, close by.

" He's going to be okay. Stiles. They took the bullet out and it missed all the important organs. He lost a lot of blood and he'll be weak for a bit, but- he's okay, guys. Stiles is going to be okay." Scott said, a gasping breath going past Derek, who tried to laugh, but it reformed to cries, that he released some of, into the sheriff's arms, then some more into Scott's.

They walked back to where Chris sat with Parrish and Melissa, and the sheriff went to Melissa, while Scott went to Chris, and they didn't know which of them was bearing the loss, but they found something within each other that they needed, so they held on. The sheriff then fell into Chris' arms, and they were both crying, and somewhere in the midst of all that, the sheriff found himself apologizing for the loss, like it'd only just happened. Chris was grieving it, like it was. But they were both fathers, terribly afraid and broken apart, and it felt like only the other could understand, because Chris had lost his child, and the sheriff had come close to that, and they didn't know which was worse, but the heartache felt the same.

Derek walked past all that, down a hallway, then he started running, because Stiles' scent was becoming more prominent, and his chest was caving with something or the other, and he needed to see him in a shade other than red. So, he stood by the opened door, eyes taking in his hazy figure, laughing up at Lydia, marveling upon her red hair like he'd only just found out about it. But despite how drugged up he was, once Stiles found Derek's eyes, he grinned, pointing at his stomach, saying something about having a badass gunshot wound, and how awesome the scar of that would be, and Derek, despite himself, laughed, willing it to not turn into more tears.

Derek said something about Stiles paying for the car wash because that blood is going to be a bitch to get out of his backseat, and Stiles told him that he'd be a bitch to get out of his life, and something snapped right back into place in Derek's chest, who stood back, next to Malia, bumping eased shoulders with her, until she chuckled, resting her head against his shoulder, as they both watched Stiles fall asleep, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. To him, Stiles probably was.


End file.
